


Little and Late

by Jaelijn



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e11 Orbit, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Episode: s04e11 Orbit, Suicidal Thoughts, but nothing is happy, post-Malodar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: After Malodar, nothing is the same.
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Vila Restal
Kudos: 10
Collections: Rebels and Fools





	Little and Late

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, I have the pleasure of sharing my fics from the Rebels and Fools digital fanzine! We're on [issue #4](https://rebelsandfools.tumblr.com/post/626427012368793600/rebels-and-fools-issue-4)!!! 
> 
> There's three fics of mine in the zine, but I am starting us of with the heavy one because it was about time I wrote an "Orbit" fic. 
> 
> Thanks to [foreignobjecticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignobjecticus/pseuds/foreignobjecticus) for beta-ing this in its early stages!

They don't talk about it. In fact, they barely see each other at all, afterwards, back on Xenon base.

Avon tells himself that he has nothing left to say. He regretted that final sharp crack at Vila the moment it had left his mouth, but he was angry - angry at the failure of the mission, angry at himself, angry at Vila for reminding him of what he had almost done, angry that something he _hadn't_ done should matter so much, angry that he couldn't enjoy the elation of having survived. Anger was the safest emotion to feel then, and it still is now. It doesn't stop the other emotions from crowding in, progressively more by the hour.

He feels Vila's absence more keenly than he ever thought possible.

Two days later, and the only glimpse Avon's had of the man is a disappearing back out of the kitchen. It isn't enough to tell what Vila is feeling, but the fact that he has stopped drinking - completely and rather abruptly - may just be.

Withdrawal isn't a good look on anyone.

When Avon gets back to his rooms, he finds himself screaming at Orac. He doesn't raise his voice, as a rule. Shouting isn't as effective to get one's point across as people seem to think, and Avon prides himself on having a tighter hold on his anger than that. Still, he is screaming at Orac and wonders, even while he is doing it, whether the shouting can be heard all over the base.

He still can't bring himself to stop.

How _dare_ Orac suggest such a thing! How dare Orac assume that Vila is expendable! How dare Orac put the idea into his head that to survive he needs to get rid of any of the others! How dare Orac not come up with a better solution! How dare Orac not tell him about the fragment!

Avon screams until he's hoarse and Orac has long since shut itself off. He goes to bed with a blinding headache.

When he wakes up, he feels old. So very, very old, almost as though he can hear his bones creaking. It's the middle of the night, but he needs coffee - or some stimulant, at any rate, to feel less like a walking corpse.

He is standing fully in the kitchen before he even realises that the lights are on - that it is occupied.

Vila is sitting at the table, nursing a steaming mug. Tea, perhaps, from the smell. Avon wants to ask Vila to make one for him, too, and almost chokes on the realisation that he can't.

He expects Vila to bolt. But like on the flight deck, after, Vila stays, barely moving, and meets Avon's gaze with unflinching sternness the likes of which Avon himself never quite mastered.

Avon breaks eye contact first, but now that he's here, he can't bring himself to turn and walk away. He mumbles something about coffee and goes to the counter - any thought of a stronger stimulant goes right out of his head at Vila's presence.

"Avon," Vila says, and Avon freezes as if Vila has pulled on his strings. Except that isn't right because Vila isn't supposed to be the one that binds him.

"Avon, do you want me dead?" Vila's voice is so flat, it barely even sounds like a question. It's also not the one Avon is expecting. He flounders for a response, blanks, verbalises the only thing that's in his mind: "No." "Did you want me dead on that shuttle?" Vila snaps back, but it sounds like there is a little more life in his voice - or perhaps that's Avon's imagination.

He knows the response to that - it feels like he has rehearsed it over and over, running through their post-Malodar conversation in his head to the point where it seems as if they've already had it a hundred times when they haven't even had it once. He imagines Vila has done the same. He knows the response he should give - the response that made the Vila in his head forgive him - but it doesn't come over his tongue. "No," he says again, staring numbly at his hands.

It's the truth. It was never about wanting Vila dead. If Avon had wanted Vila dead, there would have been a hundred easier ways to kill him.

"Yes," Vila responds, and this time the slight relaxation in his voice is definitely real. "That's what I thought. I don't want you dead, either."

Avon turns around, looking at Vila's hands clenched around his mug. "Vila..."

"No. Don't apologise." Vila's fingers twitch. "I think we both know that if the situation happened again, you'd do the same thing."

Avon isn't even sure that that's true, anymore. He isn't sure he can predict his own reactions anymore. He hasn't really wanted to survive in so long. Killing Vila seems utterly unthinkable, now, but he's argued with Orac about these things before. He didn't argue on the shuttle. It isn't like him to just accept what Orac... or is it?

"You would do it, too?" Avon says - it isn't meant to be a question, but it comes out like one anyway.

"No," Vila says again, and it sounds like the crack of breaking glass. Avon flinches. "I wouldn't. I'm far too much of a coward for that."

Avon wants to tell him that a coward wouldn't sit there, calmly facing down the man who intended to kill him. Avon thinks that between the two of them, it is him who is the coward - he never faces danger but with a weapon in hand and prefers to plan until the point where he has eliminated as much danger as possible. Vila is far more audacious.

He says nothing.

Vila sighs.

"I would have died for you, Avon."

Avon smiles at that, bitterness spilling onto his lips. "I'm not worth that. I never was."

"I know that, too." Vila's hands leave the mug and he stands, his chair scraping back unpleasantly on the floor. "I meant it, Avon, when I said I wouldn't forget this. Let's end this, eh?"

Vila doesn't specify what _this_ is, but he doesn't need to, Avon thinks. It doesn't matter anyway. He's been thinking the same thing -- everything needs to end before Vila is as lost as he is. The Federation, the rebellion, this crew, him, everything. For a moment, Avon imagines drawing the weapon that he always keeps on him now and offering it handle first to Vila, imagines what might happen. He doesn't do it.

"Yes," he agrees instead, at last meeting Vila's gaze - he is much closer than Avon expects. "Yes, I will end it. Not much longer, Vila, I promise."

Vila nods as if he believes him. Perhaps he does or cares to pretend that he does. It's so little that it shouldn't matter, but it _does_.


End file.
